


Without his Daily Remedy

by DollopheadedMerlin



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Episode: s04e06 A Servant of Two Masters, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 20:45:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5980500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollopheadedMerlin/pseuds/DollopheadedMerlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Gaius and Gwen were never able to figure out how to truly defeat the fommoroh? What if they had to find some other way to constantly keep Merlin in control of his own body? What effects would their remedy have on him, nearly an entire year later?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without his Daily Remedy

They had been trapped for far too long under that mountain. Hours must have gone by; all spent maneuvering through the darkness, trying to find a weak spot in the cave in. But now, as hours turned into days and discomfort turned into desperation, Merlin slid down the length of the cave wall and collapsed in exhaustion.

He was running out of time.

Arthur, still walking the perimeter of their prison in search for an exit, stumbled over Merlin’s foot. The boy winced and brought his legs up to his chest.

After regaining his footing, Arthur turned to him. “Don’t sleep, Merlin. We need to find a way out of here.”

“I can’t sleep,” Merlin muttered, voice harsh and disdained.

Arthur stopped in his search and looked down at the dark mass that was his servant. “We’re going to get out of here.”

“I know.”

“Then stop whining and help me.”

“I can’t.”

Arthur became suddenly aware of the shaking fear in Merlin’s voice. Having pity on his servant in the grave situation, he knelt down and found his shoulder. Tremors racked his frame and, just before he was about to jibe at Merlin's cowardice, he froze.

“Merlin?”

Quick, labored breaths answered him.

“Merlin,” Arthur said more urgently, “are you hurt?”

“No,” Merlin whispered back, bringing a hand up to cling onto Arthur. “I—I can't . . . Arthur, I’m sorry.”

“Merlin, what . . .”

“I’m going to try and kill you and I’m sorry.”

“Merlin . . . what are you saying?” Arthur asked, hurt but worried. Possibilities niggled his mind. Perhaps his servant was deathly afraid of tight spaces and was in some sort of panic. Perhaps he’d hit his head during the cave in and was now delirious. He clung onto these notions as he awaited Merlin’s answer.

“R-remember when I was taken by the mercenaries? Last year?”

Of all the things, Arthur had not expected Merlin to say that in response. It seemed too obscure and the memory of thinking Merlin to be dead made his stomach churn. “Yes . . . why?”

“I . . . I wasn’t myself when I first returned, was I?”

“No,” Arthur answered honestly, the terror in Merlin’s voice making him nervous.

“I don’t remember any of it, the week after I returned. Gaius said . . . Arthur, I never escaped from the mercenaries.”

“What? I don’t understand. What does that have to do with—“

“They brought me to Morgana,” he rasped, his shaking steadily getting worse. “She healed my wounds and . . . My first week back . . . That entire time I was enchanted to kill you.”

Arthur felt his heart skip a beat. How could he not have noticed something so drastic, so wrong within Merlin? He knew he had acted strange upon his return, but he amounted that to the stress of imprisonment. It was why he never questioned Merlin's lack of injuries. It was why he never asked how he had escaped. “How did you . . .”

“Gaius and Gwen . . . they . . . Morgana put a c-creature in the back of my neck.” Shaking even more so, Merlin brought Arthur’s hand to the infested area. He could feel a lump on Merlin's neck. It was warm. “They couldn’t remove it. It grew back. But they found a way to sedate it so I . . . I take medicine, Arthur. Every day I sedate this _thing_ so that I don’t . . .”

Arthur’s breath caught in his throat as he realized what Merlin was saying. They had been trapped within that cave for at least two days and, though they had water and weapons, all of their provisions were left on their saddlebags. Whatever remedy Merlin had been taking all this time, it must have still been with the horses.

“You don’t have any more, do you?” he finally asked, hand still resting on Merlin’s back.

Filled with despair, Merlin shook his head. “No,” he whispered.

The lump moved.

Arthur jerked his hand away and grasped Merlin firmly by his arms. “Okay, listen to me. You’re not going to kill me, alright. And I’m not going to kill you.”

“Arthur . . .”

“We’ll tie you up,” the king suggested. “We’ll restrain you until they dig us out, alright?”

“What if . . .”

“No, Merlin,” Arthur countered as he began to tear his cape into strips. “Take your jacket off. We’ll use that too.”

As Merlin slowly tugged his jacket from his body, Arthur could tell, even without prior experience, that he was losing control. Whatever was inside of him, it was struggling to become the dominant consciousness.

Merlin just focused on keeping his mind intact whilst Arthur began to wrap him tightly in the shredded fabrics. He used Merlin's thick jacket in the most important places and his cape to reinforce it. When he was finished, he knelt down, noting how terribly constricted Merlin’s movements were.

“If the bonds begin to break, I’ll use my jerkin,” Arthur promised, clapping Merlin on the shoulder for reassurance. He took a deep breath and looked Merlin in the eyes the best he could. “You can let go now.”

But Merlin shook his head. “No,” he slurred.

“Merlin, you’re not killing anybody with these restraints,” he promised.

Again, Merlin refused. “I don’t want to be that _thing.”_

A cold dread stung Arthur in the chest and he sat back on his heels. “Okay,” he murmured, not willing to argue with Merlin in this state. “Okay.”

He bit down on his lip as he watched Merlin’s muscles tense, He hunched over himself and contorted into a tight position during his final efforts against the serpent. Soon, he was entirely stiff. For a long moment there was no movement within the cave, Arthur holding his breath in anticipation, but then Merlin went slack, his body slumping against the wall.

And thus, Arthur waited, anxiously anticipating when the evil inside Merlin would awake.

The boy stirred, flexing his fingers and trying to stretch out against the restraints. Upon realizing that he couldn't move, he lifted his head and inspected his situation. Gradually, he began to struggle.

Unnerved, Arthur stood up and stepped away. Merlin paused at that, looking out into the darkness. “Arthur?” he questioned, and _oh_  did it sound like Merlin. “Why am I tied up?”

But, as much as it sounded like the real Merlin, there was an underlying degrading tone. Back when Merlin had returned, he'd thought it was simply a fault in his voice, him being shaken by the events of his capture, or the fatigue caused by his wound. But he could hear the falseness of it now, the artificial trust he bore on the surface.

“Arthur,” Merlin complained, his voice more stern. “Arthur, this is ridiculous. What are you doing?”

“You asked me to,” the king replied without thinking.

“What?” Merlin questioned. “Arthur, look where we are. Do you honestly think I would have asked that of you? I must have hit my head. Or maybe you hit yours. I wouldn't be surprised; it's so bloated from that swelling ego of yours.”

Arthur’s lip twitched. It seemed so much like something that Merlin would say, only it held far more bitter a meaning.

“Arthur,” the imposter whined, beginning to writhe within his ties. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t release you, Merlin,” he told, a lump in his throat.

“Arthur, you're being stupid,” the serpent laughed. “Let me go.”

Arthur shook his head and was silently thankful that he couldn't see his servant's pleading face in the gloom.

“Why are you doing this?” Merlin asked, sounding betrayed.

“You're ill, Merlin.”

“And that's reason to tie me up, is it?”

Arthur refused to reply.

“How have I wronged you?”

“You haven't wronged me, Merlin.”

“Then why do you punish me?”

“You're ill.”

“I'm not! I'm not and you're hurting me!” Merlin cried.

It was clear that the horrid imposter had realized that Arthur knew he was not the true Merlin. He no longer sounded full of woe, instead opting to scream at the king, relishing in his guilt.

“You're killing me! I can't breathe!”

“Stop. Please, Merlin. Stop.”

To his utter shock, he did stop. The cave was silent once more, save for the king's weighted breath.

Moments slipped by and Arthur was gracious for the quiet, for the peace. But then a low mantra slowly crept its way into his head; a low thumping sound, accompanied by scrapes and crumbles. The steady bump filled the king with dread. He slowly came close to his servant, heart pounding mercilessly.

Merlin was rhythmically banging his head against the cave wall. It made Arthur’s skin crawl. It was apparent that the serpent had discovered how attached Arthur was to his servant and, instead of attacking him directly, opted to coax him into pitying him so that he might find the opportunity to strike.

Quickly he sat beside Merlin and pulled him into his lap, putting his softer chest between the cave wall and his friend's fragile skull.

Immediately he began to struggle, making sounds of disgust, making Arthur feel as though he'd betrayed Merlin, hurt him in some cruel way.

“Let me go!” the serpent shouted, but Arthur merely hushed him and wrapped his arms around his torso to keep the boy from hurting himself. He thrashed and kicked, but Arthur had his arms pinned to his side and the restraints held his ankles and knees firmly together. All he could do was wriggle against his king, his friend, his desired victim.

Merlin thumped his head against Arthur’s chest, racking the king's ribs with each blow. Arthur held him tighter, stopped him from moving, tears welling in his eyes as he wondered how many times it might have been Gaius that held Merlin down or locked him away when the potion failed to work, or when Merlin may have scrambled out of bed, shaking as he had been, rummaging for another dose.

With time, Merlin calmed, lying back against Arthur’s breast. Peering over his mop of hair, he was just able to see that his eyes were closed. He would have guessed him asleep, but Arthur was no fool. Merlin muscles were stiff and his shoulders tense.

After naught but a brief moment of calm, Merlin took in a deep breath through his nose before he began to speak.

“I hate you,” he whispered, in a voice far lower and far graver than the friend he knows. “You don’t care for me. You hate me. You spit at my face. You're nothing but a spoilt royal who sees all those below him as scum on his boots. You are no better than any other tyrant. You're just as horrid as your father.”

“Stop, Merlin. Please . . .” He hugged him tighter.

“All I do is try to help you, give you advice, but you never take it. You never listen. My word means nothing to you. You don’t ever even consider my wisdom. You didn't even notice how wrong I was acting, how my loyalty turned to hatred. For days I made attempts on your life and you didn't so much as bat an eye.”

Arthur dug his nails into the flesh of Merlin’s arms. The boy let out a hoarse breath of a laugh. “And I was right too,” he murmured in that strange, throaty voice that sounds so foreign yet painfully familiar. “I told you that Agravaine was the traitor, but he was smarter than you, quicker than you. _I_ was smarter than you.”

“Merlin is wise, not you,” Arthur breathed into his servant's thick locks of grimy hair.

“You're still so painfully stupid,” he hissed in return. “You see absurdity where there is wisdom. You see simple minds where there are palaces of intelligence. You see betrayal where there is loyalty.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Arthur huffed, flexing to keep Merlin restrained.

“Of course you don't. You couldn't. You hate me. You just don't know it yet. You’re as biased as your father, as terrible as Morgana.”

“I have worked to make Camelot a fair and just kingdom.”

“And you have failed because you refuse to see past your upbringing, despite the fact that you have been given all the evidence needed to prove its falsity.”

“Magic corrupts. Morgana is proof enough of that. _You_ are proof enough of that.” He adjusted his hold on the boy, grunting as he pulled him closer.

“I am proof of the contrary. More precisely, your friend is evidence that magic can be used for grand purposes.”

“What friend?” Arthur ground out.

And, damn him, he flashed that lopsided grin of his, of Merlin’s. It didn't belong to him. That smile that glowed eerily in the dim light should not have been paired with those hallowed eyes. “Me,” he said turning in the king's tight hold, brandishing his teeth, making it feel more like a challenge than a grin.

“What?”

“That's how utterly _stupid_ you are!” Merlin said, throwing his head back and onto Arthur’s chest. “You still can't see it! You are so blind by your malicious assumptions that, when something is good and righteous, you immediately disassociate it with magic!” His voice grew louder as he continued. “Your eyes have become so clouded, your sight _hazing_ through a film your father laid across your young, little head, that you cannot even see what is blatantly displayed in front of you, _for_ you!”

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked, desperation in his voice.

Merlin took a moment, his excited, rapid breaths tickling Arthur’s ear as he turned to whisper. _“Your servant's secret.”_

Arthur held his breath, knowing all too well what the snake was implying. “No,” he denied. “No, you’re lying. You’re turning me against Merlin in Morgana’s name.”

“It is the _truth!”_ Merlin rasped.

“Show me,” Arthur demanded. “Merlin would not betray me. He's my friend.”

“A friend who practices magic!” he hissed.

“Then _show me!”_ Arthur shouted in aggravation.

For once, Merlin’s smug pride left his face and he sighed. “I cannot. He keeps his powers from me.”

“You're _lying._ That's an excuse.” Arthur growled, skin crawling at the disturbing thoughts of betrayal and lies that he desperately suppressed.

“He cares for you too much,” the possessive thing said, shaking his head. “He thinks you'll learn and accept him when he tells you, that revealing his devotion and sacrifices will mend the hole torn by his lies.”

Arthur went rigid. “What sacrifices?”

Merlin hummed, a low, hot, throaty sound that made Arthur fear what he would say. “You can count them, some of them. Tally marks of scars along his skin. I can read them, trifling through his memories. It's daunting how proud he is of them, of saving you, a man who shall bring about his death.”

“Where are they?” Arthur growled, heart pounding in his chest.

“What?”

“The scars,” he shot back, pushing Merlin off of him so that he tumbled into the darkness. Drawing his sword, he cut away his restraints before holding it to the demon's chest. “Show them to me.”

Reluctantly, the serpent began to shrug off Merlin’s jacket. Arthur watched cautiously as his belt slithered out from around narrow hips before he shed his tunic.

Even in the meager light, Merlin’s body glowed, pale sketches of his struggles drawing Arthur’s wide eyes to attention. His breath sped up with the shock of it all. The turmoil of thaumaturgic betrayal tumbling over tragic devotion and silent suffering made his mind feel numb.

The sound of shifting gravel was all the warning he had before Merlin had thrown himself onto him. Blindly swiping his sword on instinct, Arthur scrambled back from his attacker. Swatting furiously, Merlin knocked Arthur’s sword from his grasp before driving his knees into his master's gut, knocking the wind out of him. Blow after blow landed as Arthur fought to get his bearings. Small grunts and rasps and winces echoed throughout the tussle before Merlin finally caught Arthur around the neck.

Breathing through clenched teeth, Merlin strangled his king, pinning his arms down with boney shins. Fighting for air, Arthur looked up into crazed eyes that held a look he'd seen in countless numbers of vengeful sorcerers. His faith shriveled down to nothing as he saw his closest friend uphold the expectations of everything he had grown to hate. Tears slipped from his broken gaze as he began to mourn the Merlin he had grown to admire and seek wisdom in, dreading that he had been replaced in his time of dying.

_Replaced._

Arthur paused in his resistance as things began to fill into place. The horrid, hateful eyes peering down at him did not belong to Merlin. Merlin was not stealing his breath. This _thing_ was. This thing that Merlin had worked so hard for so long to suppress was killing him, wielding his relationship with the king to its advantage.

What Merlin did have was magic, magic that he kept from this despicable beast. Even now he was the ever loyal servant, withholding his power from a being that left him essentially inexistent. Even now, as his vision ebbed away, he began to feel the periodic slack in his attacker's grasp, a small hope he could hold onto that Merlin was, in truth, the bumbling yet devoted fool that Arthur knew.

With newfound strength, Arthur tore one of his arms out from the serpent's knees and pressed the heel of his palm hard into Merlin’s jaw, finally prying his constricting fingers away from his throat. Gasping for breath, he threw the boy off of him and slapped his hand over his mouth before he could even cry out.

One hand bound around Merlin’s bare chest to pin his arms to his sides and another holding his mouth and nose shut, Arthur brought him back into his lap, bearing the restrained punches and frantic kicks until he moved no more.

Looking down at the boy, he watched as he slipped away into unconsciousness. Just before his eyes rolled back, they glazed over and the true Merlin seemed to seep through and a horrid look of woeful relief shone through the threat of tears.

Arthur panted into Merlin’s ear as he relaxed, finally bringing his hand away from his lips.

 

Left alone with his thoughts, Arthur tried to focus on Merlin's breathing. Memories flooded into his head, still throbbing with the strain from suffocation. He began to see all of the subtle yet impossibly grand things the servant did for him. Guilt drowned him as he thought back on his life; the things he'd done and said in Merlin’s presence that could have crushed the spirits of a weaker man.

It was incomprehensible to him how the boy could have so much faith in him. After all he now saw that he had done, it was a greater loyalty he could have ever imagined. He did not only go unacknowledged for his just acts, but he was constantly reminded of how evil his justice was in the eyes of others. And now, Arthur realized with a start, he may have even thought that Arthur had suffocated him in disgust to his revealed secrets.

He didn't dare let his friend go, hugging him to his chest as he tried to calm his breathing and his mind. Time fell away from him as he waited, so much so that lifetimes seemed to have passed before the caved wall began to shift and crumble.

Light streamed through and he began to cry, holding tightly onto Merlin, afraid that he would be taken from him. The Knights climbed through, calling out for him before rushing to his aid.

After some argument and futile attempts at persuasion, Arthur insisted that he carry Merlin from the cave, and he did. In the blinding light of late afternoon, he saw Merlin’s scars shimmer in the sun. He choked on a sob and fell to his knees as his throat seized up again. At last, Merlin was gently taken from him.

 

He’d passed out, trying and failing to slow his breathing, fighting hiccups and sobs to no avail. He awoke to Gaius’s worn, worried face, who quickly trained him how to breathe when he threatened to hyperventilate again.

“Merlin,” he rasped the moment he could spare a breath for speech.

“He is sleeping,” Gaius assured.

“No it's—he's—“

Gaius calmly shushed him. “I know. He's safely sedated. I will administer his medicine in the morning.”

“You know—he—I'm—I can't—”

“Sire, relax. I understand what has happened. You must know that it was not Merlin you were trapped in there with.”

“I know!” Arthur whispered urgently. “But I _know!_ I'm so sorry, Gaius. I made him—I said—he was—“

“Arthur,” Gaius warned sternly as his breathing began to pick up again.

Taking a deep breath, he leaned forwards and whispered, “the magic.”

Aged eyes went wide and Arthur was quick to amend the worry he’d caused. “I owe him . . . so much . . . I can’t . . . How could he have gone so long . . . I've been so cruel to him.”

A sigh clouded out of Gaius as he admitted to himself what truly might have happened within the cave. “What was it that he said to you?”

It alarmed the physician how disgusted Arthur looked as he went to answer. “He didn't. He didn't get to tell me. That—that _thing_ did. He . . . He wanted to—to tell me himself. It said . . . It didn't lie, did it?”

“From what you tell me now, no,” Gaius admitted. “But you must understand that Merlin sees nothing but greatness in your future as king, and that he is not the only one with magic that longs to see you rule Albion.”

“But why?” Arthur asked through heavy breaths. “After all that I've done, why would they have faith in me?”

“Arthur,” Gaius assured, “all that you have done since becoming king is begin to tear down the barrier your father has made between this kingdom and magic. You are the one who made peace with the druids, allowed them safe passage through the lands. You put an end to the slaughter that Uther ensued. Already you have begun to accept magic in ways your father never dared.”

Arthur hummed, eyes drifting towards what he realized to be Merlin’s slumbering form in the distance. “I still have a long ways to go, don't I?”

Gaius opened his mouth to reply but stopped when Leon and Percival ventured back into camp. The physician merely offered Arthur a sincere nod before Leon spoke. “The horses are ready. We can reach Camelot before nightfall.”

Slowly, Arthur climbed to his feet. “Then we better get going.”

 

Arthur watched Merlin as they made the journey home. Gwaine held him, sleeping soundly at the front if his horse. He wished Gaius had deemed him well enough to be the one to ride with him, but his breathing had yet to return to normal and the elder preferred that only one man fall from his horse given he pass out again. His eyes wandered to Merlin’s arm where the outline of a bandage could be seen through his tunic. He'd discovered that he had injured Merlin when being attacked and the wound proved useful in conjuring a cover story as to why he needed to be kept sedated.

 

“Merlin!” Arthur sighed as the boy began to stir. He had spent the night at his bedside, awaiting his revival. Gaius had given him his potion in the late hours when he had drifted into a dizzying consciousness with a promise that he would be his own self come morning.

“Arthur?” The boy blinked tiredly up at him. “Arthur! I—what happened?”

“Gaius sedated you. You slept through the whole ride home.”

“No! I mean . . . In the cave. Are you alright?”

Arthur froze, a lump forming in his throat. He'd forgotten. Merlin had no memory of the serpent's possession. He looked away, more guilt balling up at the bottom of his stomach. His secret was out and he didn't even know, didn't even have a choice in revealing himself. Arthur could have killed him had the creature not shown him his scars and presented his woes.

“Arthur?” Merlin pled, eyes wide and worried.

The king smiled. “Nothing, Merlin. You broke free and got scraped up a bit,” he nodded to his arm, “but you delivered no harm.”

Relief conquered Merlin’s expression as he sagged back into his bedsheets.

“I'm glad your back,” Arthur said softly, watching as his servant's eyes fluttered towards sleep once more.

 

Gaius was still preparing remedies for his ward when Arthur came back into the infirmary. “Ah, Arthur,” he said upon his return. “Has he woken?”

“Briefly,” Arthur confirmed. He strolled in and sat down heavily on one of Gaius’s stools, burying his head in his hands. He relished the calm of clinking vials and flowing liquids as the old man worked. That is, until Gaius spoke.

“It's called a fomorroh,” he informed, setting a small plate of breakfast in front of the king.

“The creature?” Arthur questioned, lifting his head up.

Gaius nodded before allowing a moment of silence. “Are you going to tell him?”

“What?”

“His magic. Are you going to tell him?”

Taking a moment to think about what the fomorroh had said and what Merlin wanted, he took a deep breath. “No.”

Gaius lifted an eyebrow. “No?”

Arthur let out a small breath of a laugh. “No,” he affirmed. “No, all Merlin seemed to want was to tell me in his own time. Who am I to rush him? I shall be kinder to him of course, and never would I let my father's prejudice influence me again. I believe that Merlin would want this.”

Gaius smiled. “I think you may be right.”

Looking back at Merlin's little room, he silently vowed to make his life as rewarding as possible as well as treasure all that he'd done for him. “I hope I am,” he said, smiling in hopes that the future would be good to them.


End file.
